


Let In Light, Banish Shade

by phantomreviewer



Series: the preservation of fire [1]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Christian Holidays, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cultural Differences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, First Christmas, First Kiss, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Conversion Therapy, Introspection, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve sat through the worst of the summer but the heat is dry and intense and Connor can’t help but picture snow. The fresh, damp kiss of a new start on his skin. For a moment he could almost picture it, could almost feel snow instead of sweat in his hair. For most of them this is going to be their first Christmas away from home, it is certainly Connor’s first Christmas away from his family and as District Leader it is Connor who has a responsibility for the welfare of his Elders. He should be able to provide them this, to make their first Christmas in Africa something incredible, something special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let In Light, Banish Shade

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Band Aid single 'Feed The World' with hopefully the understanding of the intended irony in using it as a title. 'Just like Bono, I am Africa' indeed.
> 
> I couldn't decide if I wanted to write something fluffy about the first Christmas in Uganda or something more emotionally painful. I decided to go with both as an acceptable answer in the end, but, because it is Christmas it is more happy than hurtful, I hope.
> 
> I did a lot of research for how Christmas is celebrated in Uganda, most notably [this website](http://specialed.about.com/od/integration/a/christmasugandastory.htm) and I hope it comes across well, and not just as though I ingested a wikipedia article on the subject. I know very little about Mormon procedures, both for Christmas or for selecting District Leaders, so I went with a number of my own headcanons in lieu of accurate information.

It started when Elder Church’s mother sent him a care package back in September. It was battered and half ripped open, it looked as though someone had opened it up and rifled through its contents before allowing it to get to the Mission Hut, and they probably had. But Church hadn’t cared because there was an intact photo of sister’s new baby – named Joshua Joseph after his far away uncle – alongside a note saying that the name was chosen because little J.J. needs a good male role model and Alicia knows none finer than her brother. Church sniffles and keeps the photograph and note close, Elder McKinley sees him tuck them into the front of his personal copy of the Book of Arnold, but the rest of the Elders are far more excited about the small box included in the bottom of the packet labelled ‘for J.C.’s friends’.

Underneath the packing paper there are ten Christmas crackers.

The District House explodes in glee, and suddenly they are teenage boys again.

In the end Connor has to confiscate the box for their own good, locking it away in the little box room which officially fills the roll of District Leader’s office. It’s cramped and stuffy enough already in there, piled high with paperwork and boxes and the only window had been boarded up by a previous mission years ago, but it is a sanctum of his position and makes for a good place to store his arts and craft supplies alongside the accounts. Not that they have much of either these days.

The crackers are reclaimed and packed away and Davis reluctantly detangles himself from the strings of bells and tinsel that had been hidden under the crackers. The note from Mrs Church was packed away too, a finely scripted hand ‘ _dear Elders of District 9, I thought these would be hard to get hold of in Africa, I didn’t know how long posting would take so I thought I’d sent these a little early, yours faithfully, Mrs Church._ ’ It is a very kind touch, most of their families only send things for their own sons. Mrs Church is a lovely woman, Connor has spoken to her once on the phone before – Church had been held up desperately proselytising at the makeshift Doctor’s surgery and Connor as District Leader hadn’t wanted to let Elder Church miss one of his only phone conversations with family. So he had held the line and chattered on about inane matters until Church had gotten in, dusty and tired, but illuminated when Connor held out the phone.

The box is tucked away on the top of the highest stack of pre-paid for envelopes to the Mission President and Connor tries not to let it distract him from his work. They have a lot of ground to catch up on, in nearly three months they haven’t managed to baptise a single villager, despite their many attempts. They have more important things to consider than Christmas. It is only September after all.

It doesn’t feel like September, with the oppressive heat. They’ve sat through the worst of the summer but the heat is dry and intense and Connor can’t help but picture snow. The fresh, damp kiss of a new start on his skin. For a moment he could almost picture it, could almost feel snow instead of sweat in his hair. The presence of the small box is a constant pressure on his thoughts. For most of them this is going to be their first Christmas away from home, it is certainly Connor’s first Christmas away from his family and as District Leader it is Connor who has a responsibility for the welfare of his Elders. He should be able to provide them this, to make their first Christmas in Africa something incredible, something special.

They may not have baptised any villages get, but they have been working well as a team, they have bonded in difficult circumstances and they deserve something, they deserve a good Christmas, to make up for absent friends and family. They need something to help them to jeep looking forwards. When the monthly report is far too dull and uninspiring to complete, when the filing system baffles and bores Connor finds himself decorating the edges of his notepaper with stars and hearts and glittery Christmas trees. Lists start appearing on the back of drafted letters, about availability of Christmas food, of getting hold of a turkey, some candles and appropriate prayers and sayings. There might even be room in the budget for a few presents. A Christmas tree perhaps. On scrap paper it doesn’t seem too much to plan, although perhaps a full Christmas meal under the Ugandan sun might be too rich, too alien; he certainly can’t find brussel sprouts and chestnuts out here.

He was chosen to train as District Leader back in America, where Christmases were cold and sharp. Leadership skills, bookkeeping and added responsibilities were a good and righteous task for a good Mormon boy who had had to prove himself dedicated to the Church and not to his own personal, wrong, feelings. His extra training was supposed to be both distraction and reward for his willingness to accept the church and change himself, and he has earnt it, he had. That training as well as being a reward had also given him the tools to plan a Christmas. The other Elders have been working so hard, but all of them, before they catch themselves with a sudden moment of shock, have been missing home. A Christmas, even if it isn’t a family one will suit them nicely. And it will give Connor’s resting mind a task to focus on, lest it wander to other, less pure, designs.

And then Elder Price and Elder Cunningham happened, and they aren’t going to be staying in Uganda for Christmas after all. Their Christmases will be spent separated and shame faced explaining their failure as missionaries and as Mormons.

And then, and then, somehow, miraculously – and it can only be a miracle, a Heavenly Father approved happy ending – the village is saved, their mission will continue and Connor McKinley is still a Latter Day Saint even _if_ he breaks the rules. He can look forward, there is a future in which is he allowed to carry on; he can still plan Christmas.

They don’t beg for funds, they are prouder than that despite what they have done but they do reconvene, and meet with the Mission President; without Elder Cunningham to exaggerate the truth they manage to convince them not to officially shut down the District. They won’t get any assistance in how they go about their business other than the more minimal of expenses – and even those are an long term loan to be paid back in District Leader Elder McKinley’s name as opposed to written off by the Church - and more missionaries will not be sent to them straight out of the training schools. But they aren’t excommunicated either, they have not been shut down in as many words. They are still Latter Day Saints, all of them. It is more than Connor could have dreamed of, although it leads to the complication, the two worlds in his head.

There is the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints where he must be _not_ , and then there is the Church of the Books of Arnold and Mormon, where he is slowly, slowly learning to be. These two fractions of reality, these two worlds, do not always mix – they have overlapping characters and scenarios, they have Poptarts and Price and Hell Dreams and dogma and Heavenly Father, but they are separate, an ocean between realities - and if Connor is honest with himself (he always tries to be honest with himself these days, even if it is hard and scary and involves mentally uncrumpling boxes and smoothing away torn pages from mental reminders, balled away and forgotten) he is scared of what will happen in eighteenth months when he leaves a church headed by the bumbling, if brilliant, Elder Cunningham and returns to air conditioned and frigid reality of America. But, he reasons, that is a problem for a Latter Day, it has to be, or else he will never have this moment again. These days are too precious to let them pass him by.

Christmas is harder to plan on the sly than anticipated, especially now. The Elders are busy now, taken up with preaching and doctrine of the new church of The Book of Arnold. They go out in the village and listen, and proselytise, they help to plan out where the new village hall will be – not a church, but a LDS building nonetheless – they watch dances and teach traditional Mormon songs, Elder Cunningham tells stories and everyone listens. Connor is so busy, trying to balance the books to make sure that the Elders are fed and safe, but Christmas is echoing in the back of his mind. It provides a suitable place for his mind to focus when it is quiet and the house of full of young men laughing and comfortable with each other. He is comfortable with his Elders, of course he is, but it is helpful to have a buffer.

When Elders Price, Michaels, Davis, Zelder, and Thomas settle themselves on the floor to play what is setting out to be a vicious game of Uno – Elder Price has never met a game that he hasn’t won, and Connor keeps half an eye on the game in case he needs to call a time out and confiscate the cards alongside the battered copy of Monopoly which Connor should have known better than allowing the missionaries to play – Connor let his mind fall back to Christmas. It is nearly December. They are counting down the days.

An actual Christmas tree is almost impossible – Connor is imagining a roaring fire and hot chocolate and a proud high fir tree before he realises that he is being silly, lost half in memory and half in idealism and shelves that idea. They can decorate the Mission House, and they need not have a Christmas tree; but any plant decorated in the spirit of Christmas becomes, in essence, a Christmas tree anyway. It’s all about what you believe.

Elder Thomas notices what he’s trying to do first. He would have mentioned it to his mission companion, but he knows that Chris prefers not to think about family holidays and occasions; not with the intention of turning away the negative memories, but simply not to allow them to overwhelm him. Connor accepts that, and hopes that once they make Christmas happen, however it manifests that it will still be enjoyable for all of them, but especially Thomas, and won’t drag up memories that he’d rather forget. But Thomas notices. Connor hasn’t been very subtle in the privacy of their shared rooms. He has been scribbling Christmas plans in bed after curfew and companions are not allowed to go anywhere without each other.

Elder Thomas agrees with the idea, abet with a tinge of sadness in his eyes which Connor tries to nudge away with a smile. He hopes that it’s enough. And then Chris is involved in the plans for the festive season. It’s always better working with your missionary companion. What the pair of them agree on is that Christmas is going to be difficult. Thomas finds appropriate passages in the Books of Arnold and Mormon, and uses stray papers from Connor’s first draft of official letters to remember how to make sturdy paper chains. But Connor sits through the budgeting and the planning, trying to work out how to stretch their money to include a small, practical gift for each Elder as well as more of a feast. Of course, now that they are the Church of Arnold as well as Latter-Day Saints they must account for any of the villagers who wish to attend their Christmas celebrations. Their finances do not stretch very far.

They don’t even know if Elder Cunningham has even mentioned Christmas in his sermons. But it doesn’t seem likely that he’d forget. Christmas seems like it was made for Elder Cunningham, with the childish joy and the presents and the singing and the happiness. Elder Cunningham has never had a Hell Dream, Elder Cunningham is something different entirely. He is the very picture of childish glee and festive jubilation. He doesn’t even seem to expect a Christmas here.

It is going to be a challenge.

It is Elder Price who next noticed. Price seems so clean up and accurate that Connor imagines that you could spring a question of time and date on him and get an accurate answer to the precise number of seconds. He must know that it is approaching the run up to Christmas, and Price, ever since his first disastrous week has made the effort to live in the present as opposed to inside his own head. So it should be no surprise that Elder Price has noticed that Connor has spent more in his office as opposed to out socialising with the others. There are any number of reasons for that. Connor has been aware of Price’s presence of course, he always is, but having a task to focus his mind, a task for pleasure as well as for the Church has been good for dealing with distractions.

He should be forgiven for starting when Price hip checks him in the small mission kitchen and starts to help wash up, and he should be forgiven for flinching when Price ducked down and rumbled ino his ear about Christmas plans and ‘what he Connor up to?’ Helping to wash up was a rouse, Price hated getting dirty and out of place, but he helped nonetheless – pouring in more water from plastic containers over the collection of pots and crockery that needs to be cleaned and scrubbed, in order to talk quietly. Apparently Cunningham _loves_ Christmas, Connor was right, and it had taken a supreme effort – thus the willingness to wash up – in order to shake off his missionary companion in order to have this whispered conversation. Connor only flushes because the washing up water is very warm and Elder Price has soap suds up his perfect arms.

A turkey is the biggest problem. There are other more pressing concerns, Connor hasn’t managed to find enough spare money for any presents and the only carol he can remember is Once In Royal David’s City, but somehow it is the availability of turkey which causes the most stress. There are turkeys in Uganda, that’s the worst of it – Connor has seen them, with their flabby necks and memories of awkward thanksgivings and Christmases past - but how that December has started no one seems willing to part with even one. There are claims of promises already made and villiagers who have previously conversed perfectly well claim not to know English.

Connor was going to make a rudimentary advent calendar to encourage the other Elders start counting down to something more exciting, there was going to be glitter and snatches of poetry and Christmassy pictures behind the little doors but he hadn’t managed to find the time for it and now December has started and it seems too late. Other than Price and Thomas, who are both working hard to try and provide a Christmas miracle from very little substance, none of the Elders know what is being planned and their spirits are beginning to wilt at the prospect of their first holiday away from home. Not telling them isn’t technically lying, they are trying to provide a surprise. Something incredible, a special day for them to share together and that Connor hoped would cheer them up, a positive confirmation that they could have a Christmas like they were used to at home.

But it is looking more and more likely that his plans have fallen through, that he won’t be able to do this one thing for the other Elders, who have stuck by him and believed in him, even knowing about how he struggled. It is such a little thing. It is only a turkey, and it is only Christmas.

But suddenly it was all too much, his walls are crumbling, and with the month creeping onwards it is one day closer to America, closer to the day when he has to choose again, and he wanted to create a perfect Christmas. It was all too much. He was mid-conversation with Elder Zelder and Elder Neeley when the latter idly mentioned how much he missed candy canes and Connor had to excuse himself. He made it out the door, fanning his face talking about fresh air, a wide smile on his face until the door swung shut. The door clicked, shutting the other Elders out and in a blink of an eye, thick heavy tears drew salt lines down his flushed face.

He can’t remember the last time he cried about anything. It must have been before, back in the world of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints, when he was told that unless he really proved himself at Camp that they wouldn’t let him be a Mormon, and that he had to conform and do what God wanted of him, and not what he selfishly wanted for himself. And God wanted him to be happy, so he was. Had he really not cried since? It seems so long ago, so far away. Like it happened to a different person.

There is someone rubbing his shoulders as he wept into his knees like a child. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching, but his tears have been loud enough to block out the immediate world, it is no surprise that someone heard him, and he’s not ashamed of one of the Elders finding him like this, but it is a relief that it is Nabulungi. She’s sat on the step above him, looking down at him sadly as she rubs her hand across his back. She’s younger than he is, she has seen more hurt in her short life than he has, but she is comforting him like a mother would.

His own mother had unconsciously sucked in air sharply through her teeth until Connor had perfected his smile and the facade that Africa has started to peel away.

“Why are you sad Elder?”

There are a thousand answers that Connor could give, now that he doesn’t lie to himself, but there is only one that he wants to talk about with her, with anyone.

“Christmas,” he says instead.

When he and Thomas had been assigned to Uganda, with the added knowledge that he would be elevated to the position of District Leader once Elder Bailey had completed his final month, he had been told that the Ugandans were a strange and alien people. That they didn’t understand Christianity and the Bible, and that they needed help finding their salvation. That they wouldn’t understand the missionaries and that they would have to treat them like children in order to save their souls. He knows know how wrong the Missionary Training Centre had been about so many things, but he doesn’t think that he can quite explain Christmas and frost and fairylights and hot chocolate to Nabulungi, wise as she is. He can explain why he wants to make the other Elders feel at home, and why he feels like he is failing in his duty as District Leader though, and so he does. By the time he has finished talking he is no longer crying, just occasionally dabbing at his red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh, we don’t celebrate Christmas like that,” say Nabulungi, her voice sounding unconcerned, almost lyrical, and Connor can feel the string of ungrateful tears again.

“But,” she continues, still pressing a reassuring pattern into his shoulders, “we have Sekukkulu.”

The nearest church is five hours away, the other Christian missionaries before had had preached and left and put down no roots, either for themselves or for their faith. But the Mormons have their District Hut, and by this time next year they hope to have completed their hall which can double up as a church if needs be. It matters more that the villagers can utilise it. However, despite the lack of a physical church Christianity is not new to Africa, to Uganda, to this village, to his _home_. Sekukkulu, as Nabulungi describes it is the celebration of the birth of Jesus, a time for friendship, fashion and feasting. It sounds like Christmas, it feels like it could be Christmas. It could even be better. It suits the environment.

“You should have asked us to help Elder. We would be honoured to celebrate Sekukkulu and your Christmas, together.”

Connor should have learnt by now that things are better when they work together, that he doesn’t have to try and manage things alone. It isn’t going to be a surprise for the other Elders, but that doesn’t matter – they are delighted – and Connor feels a weight taken from his chest. December becomes a flurry of activity including selecting Biblical and Mormon verses on the Christmas Story, with particular additions from Arnold. There are crafting sessions and carol practice. Connor delegates Schrader and Neeley the task of present buying, those two are shrewd, but he asks Price to cover their gifts. It wouldn’t be fair to make them buy their own, and they have just enough cash to spare.

The whole village is invited to celebrate with them, and more astonishingly, the whole village wants to attend. Connor feels a well of pride that they have integrated so well into the community that their Christmas celebrations are embraced by all. Nabulungi must take the fair share of credit for smoothing the two celebrations together. With the whole village attending food again becomes a matter of momentary concern except, as Nabulungi explains from her self-appointed role as organising the two joint forces of Christmas and Sekukkulu, everyone will be providing food.

The village itself will be closed for the day, there is no reason to keep any services open as everyone will be celebrating together. The village shall provide for itself, and that now, blessedly, includes the Elders. There are promises of rice, of cooking oil and passion fruits. Matombo will bring onions and tomatoes. Nabulungi and Mafala are planning on providing sugar. They will all be together.

And someone, _someone_ finds three chickens to be the centre of the feast.

Kimbe, once she hears that the focal feature will be chicken storms to the Mission Hut and promised both banana leaves to wrap them but also insisted on supervising whichever Elder is tasked with cooking them, because they are apparently not to be trusted with real Ugandan food. Connor cannot object. Elder Michaels burnt boiled eggs last week.

They don’t have the skills or the provisions to donate something impressive to the proceedings, all the Elders can contribute to the tradition of shared food is Thomas’ supply of Poptarts and the soda that Cunningham was sent by his mother. But they have a kitchen, so they offer to host. It was expected that they would host anyway; hosting a village is going to be hard work. But they have the most experience of gathering large groups, of public speaking and working together, and they put out the invitation. They are going to get up tables out front, and the Mission Hut will be open to all – with the agreement that the office and the Elders’ rooms will be locked. Other than that, their home is their home.

Christmas Eve has an atmosphere of giddy excitement. It might be hot and dusty and utterly unlike Christmas in America, but there is something unique about the night before Christmas that Connor thinks he would recognise anywhere. There haven’t been any more letters from home, they must be being held at the next village over, but all of the Elders have been so busy organising proceedings that no one wanted to take the two day round trip to collect any Christmas messages from home. No one seems bereft, Elders Church and Davis have already volunteered to go in the New Year. It will be like a second Christmas, but this moment, this Christmas is just for them, is just for now.

Elder Price, dust covered and filthy had dragged in a dried and twisted root system of a fallen tree to act as their Christmas tree earlier that week and there is tinsel and paper chains decorating it with abandon. It is not the most beautiful or stylised of Christmas decorations; he, Thomas and Zelder attempted to keep order but once Elder Cunningham had found Connor’s emergency glitter there was no saving it. It is theirs though. Not LDS approved or provided, but theirs.

And there are presents under the tree, imperfectly wrapped in brown paper, but nine small parcels ready and waiting for the end of the celebrations for the Elders to open.

The missionaries take to their beds and when they wake the next day, it is Christmas. There is a sea of sand, not snow outside but it is still Christmas morning and Connor cannot help but smile.

The Mission House is a hive of activity from dawn. The Elders are already up, Elder Price with the help of a cup of coffee that the others look on askance at, Elder Cunningham – who has never before managed to be awake before seven is as excited and giddy as a schoolboy.

The villagers are decked out in their finest clothes, as they make their way to the house in drips and drabs. It is still early, and the celebrations will extend all day. The Elders have their usual uniforms on, although their ties offer a splash of colour and showmanship. Connor has a tie with little bells sown onto the holly pattern, everywhere where there is a berry, he was very proud of it despite his pricked fingers.

When Nabulungi arrived, later than her father, she was beautifully made out in a blue and pink gomesi that had apparently arrived on her father’s doorstep the night before with an attached text message saying that it was for her.

Elder Cunningham, who had broken rule number twenty three last night and Connor knew it, remarkably managed not to go bright pink. He cracked as easily as a glass bottle under a herd of buffalo when the silence goes on a fraction longer and Nabulungi looks from face to face with a smile on her face.

“It must have been Santa,” Cunningham said and then he promptly ruined the feeble illusion by giggling, leaving no one in any doubt that he bartered away his stash of boiled sweets, his spare set of shoes and his Star Wars watch to have it made. There is an even paler strip of skin around his right wrist indicating where Yoda had previously alerted him of the time.

And just this once Connor is prepared to accept that it was a complete accident that Cunningham had broken curfew, it was hard for a man without a watch to know the time. And after all, it was Christmas.

None of the villagers know who or what a Santa is, and other than his inclusion in the previous evening’s Book of Arnold reading – arriving in a flurry of snow singing ‘Let It Go’ while Joseph Smith was leading the villagers through the crocodile swamp lakes of Utah to give them a lift on his sleigh to safety and teaching them that just because Rudolf looked different to the other reindeer it didn’t mean that they shouldn’t except people who were a bit more flamboyant than the rest – he isn’t included much in the proceedings. Gifts are given by friends and family, not by any form of mythologised figure coming down from the clouds bearing gifts and glad tidings.

None of the Elders examine the idea too carefully, although Elder Price looks thoughtful.

Elder Church unboxed the crackers, and the Elders pop them together, to the delight of the villagers, who were starting to consider the Mormons rather underdressed for the proceedings. They tell terrible jokes that are so corny that Connor finds himself snorting at ungracefully, and the cheap plastic toys are handed around. _Gotswana_ declared that his cheap plastic yoyo is a fantastic addition to his hand eye coordination skills. Connor made a mental reminder to not need surgery while in Africa is he can help it.

All the Elders are wearing their Christmas hats, courtesy of Mrs Church’s. Price’s hat is green and Connor’s is pink. Cunningham has already ripped his in his enthusiasm. The villagers looked at them in their white shirts and their crisply ironed trousers and their flimsy paper hats and they had laughed, but the Elders had laughed too.

Kimbe had arrived, arms full of banana leaves and, towering over Elder Davis had made sure that the chickens were smoked, seasoned and wrapped in smoked banana leaves to steam for hours before being carved up, cooked to perfection. Half the village has shown up, all with food or drink or other festive cheer. There is enough food for everyone, served buffet style throughout the day, to save the stress on their kitchen and poor Elder Davis who had drawn the short straw of being assigned food duty by the rota on Christmas Day.

Later in the day, once the initial excitement and singularity of the day had worn down to genuine pleasure to be in each other’s company on a day of celebration had mulled the conversation, people have flittered away from the trestle tables ladened with food and split into conversations. Connor has been attempting to relax and enjoy the day, but he can’t remove the pressures of responsibility entirely, and he wouldn’t want to so he keeps an eye on where his Elders are and how they are coping. Elder Thomas has had to step inside for a few moment earlier, and Connor had fielded questions with a smile until Poptarts felt ready to come back. So, Connor could not help but notice noticed Price standing to one side in the shade, with Elder B.

He doesn’t known exactly what had happened that day, between Price’s decision to remain on his mission and the … _pageant_ ; but there had been something, and it had involved the former War Lord and current and, luckily for Mormon sensibilities, newly baptised Elder B. He thinks that Arnold knows, but Arnold holds his position as Elder Price’s best friend as sacred. He hopes that either of them would tell him if they thought he need to know. He could push it, he is still district leader. But he doesn’t.

He watches though, in case he is needed. He sees Elder B’s head, bowed low in culpability and hears the low mumble of words drifting in and out of the carols and chatter. There is to be dancing later once the food has settled. He watches, prepared always to step in if necessary, Elder Price hesitatingly reach out and initiate a touch of Elder B’s wrist. Forgiveness. Or at least acceptance. Their hushed conversation ebbs away into nothing, and Connor determines to speak with Elder Price about this later in the New Year, it feels as though he may be ready to talk.

It almost isn’t a religious event, this Christmas, this Sekukkulu. Connor certainly feels closer to these brothers and sisters than he does, at this moment, to Heavenly Father, but perhaps that is a blessing, perhaps that is how it is supposed to be. Them all working together to honour themselves, and thus Heavenly Father. It’s a nice thought. Even as Elder Schrader burns the rice.

Elder Davis, finally freed from the kitchen now that everything has been cooked and left to cool, is explaining the concept of mistletoe to Mafala. Pen and paper are found and a crude sketch is drawn by Church who has an unforeseen talent for drawing foliage. And then then shy, silly, meaningless kisses are exchanged, between villagers and Elders alike. The Elders are corralled into their ‘own silly tradition, or how else will we know how it is done’ and uncertainly and awkwardly kiss the cheeks of the happy and willing female villagers, but the villagers have no such Mormon qualms, they are not on a mission restrained by religious orders, and lovers kiss lovers true.

A pang of jealousy, because while Elder Cunningham can giggle and press his lips to Nabulungi’s cheek, and then can squeeze Elder Price around the waist loudly proclaiming him his best friend, even if Elder McKinley himself was different, Uganda wouldn’t be. He loves these people, but he can’t allow himself to consider what if he was able to press a kiss to _Elder Price_ ’s cheek under the hot Ugandan sun. It is somehow worse that it is Elder Price that his brain insists on imagining in such a scenario, it is _always_ Elder Price. He’d never thought that way about his other missionary companions, not even Thomas who he had slept in the same room as for six months, it had made him feel less of a threat, until Elder Price arrived. It cannot be acted on but it can be accepted. He will not be talking to Elder Price about this.

Luckily it is time for carol singing, and Connor feels obliged to conduct. The Elders Choir, if they can call it a choir, starts traditionally. They sing an off-key but tolerable version of ‘I Saw Three Ships’ and by the time they warbled their way into ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ the villagers have joined in with harmonies. Nabulungi had persuaded Elder Cunningham to text her the lyrics so she could share them and the villages raise their voices, the balance between their two celebrations are found.

It is perfect.

They hand the floor to the village choir and as soon as the singing starts, so does the dancing. The accompanying soundtrack subtly switches from carols to non-religious songs. Elder Zelder stills the dancing with a dramatic solo of ‘Walking In The Air’, to the spontaneous applause of all. Sister Nabulungi sings something beautiful, and Connor doesn’t understand the words at all but it has to be about friendship and happiness, he just feels too jubilant listening to it for it to be melancholy in the slightest.

McKinley silences Michaels, Neeley and Schrader with a look when they start making inroads on ‘The Fairytale of New York’, he may be a Mormon but he is no fool and he does not want to know how his Elders know that sort of language. He certainly does not want to have anyone else learn the lyrics. He doesn’t want to hear it. Cunningham starts teaching some of the younger villagers ‘Frosty the Snowman’ and it drones out the threat of the three of them continuing the story of Christmas Eve. Connor joins in telling the story of Frosty, clapping his hands along with the beat. He thinks he can hear Michaels, Neeley and Schrader singing about New York when he can’t see them.

Elder Price explains snow.

His explanation is strangely faltering, it is almost as though in this environment he can’t quite picture what snow means. It is too hot for the idea of snow to stick, Connor cannot remember being cold, and he has grown used to it here.

He is dragged from his reverie by Nabulungi who pulled him into a dance. He laughed, desperately holding his hat in place, it was part of his Christmas uniform, and he ought to keep it. He appreciates looking smart.

“You are the best of these white boys at dancing, you must join us first.”

Price looks mildly offended, that he isn’t the best at something, but Connor, despite the small persistent niggles in his gut that he doesn’t quite deserve this, that this is not as happy as he should be, is too delighted to object and finds his joy exponentially increasing. He also cannot bring himself to reject the praise, he _is_ a good dancer.

The Elders try, and fail to dance along to the various traditional Ugandan dances, and while Connor comes the closest to keeping up, it does not come naturally. There is more laughter shared on this one day than Connor can remember for years. Working together is always the answer. In the end it becomes a mission in itself to get the Elders to dance ‘properly’. After Nabulungi is content with Connor she dances out of reach and beckons Elder Cunningham towards her.

They form a group, those who want to dance and the Elders pair up together. They are instructed by Kali and Kimbe who attempt to corral them into dancing properly. Price sits out and Nabubluni dances with Cunningham, who trips over his own feet because he can’t help but look at her. Despite himself, and despite the rules, Connor can’t help but think it sweet. Even if it is tempered with faint jealousy. But it is Christmas and Elder Thomas is a competent dance partner, Connor is not quite used to the difference between the dances he knew, and the Ugandan style. It is fun.

All good things must end and as the suggestion of evening starts to fall the villagers start to away from their kitchen and the trestle tables outside which had hosted their feast. Leftovers are divided up, and the Elders are hugged and thanked, and Connor has to wipe away more than one tear at the honest happiness and gratitude that is directed towards them. Eventually, once the Elders are alone, having brought in their tables and cleaned up the remanence of their party, they gather around their Christmas tree, crossed legged like eager children. Sekukkulu has been wonderful, but they all seek a little of that joy of Christmas before resting and welcoming a latter day.

The gifts aren’t extravagant, or unexpected. Thomas gets the only box of Poptarts that wasn’t donated to the feast. Cunningham, his own Star Wars watch, skilfully bartered back by Schrader and Neeley – a pair to be utilised in future market trips no doubt. Elder Church a sunhat and Elder Michaels a pair of Christmas themed socks. And so it goes on. After all the gifts are open and the Elders are happy and contented McKinley excuses himself, to sit on the front step and look up at the sky.

He needs a little air, it had been a long day. A good day, but an incredibly long one. He feels too happy. As though it cannot possibly last.

“You didn’t get a gift.”

Connor sighed.

“No, I didn’t. It seemed wasteful to arrange for and buy something for myself,” he said, looking up to see who had asked the question even though he knew the answer.

It’s Elder Price, standing tall and perfect with one hand holding his new comb, it has an ivory handle engraved with an elephant, and he’ll never be allowed to take it back to America with him. But it’s pretty and temporary, like so many things.

There’s something square and off-white in his other hand.

“It doesn’t seem fair that you don’t get a gift either.”

Even crouching down awkwardly, Elder Price is still taller than him at this angle, but he puts the comb down so that he can secure himself in the doorway and hold whatever it was in his other hand up.

It’s the drawing of the mistletoe.

There is no one around.

“I’m sorry; it’s the only thing I thought I could give you that you might want.”

There is no one around, and then for the first time in his life, a boy kisses Connor McKinley. Elder Price must have been licking his lips just beforehand, because the pressure on his cheek is faintly damp. He can’t bring himself to turn his head, doesn’t want to break the magic of this moment but in flicking his eyes to the side he can see that Elder Price - that Kevin, it must be Kevin now, has his eyes closed.

It can only be a few seconds before the pressure is gone, and Elder Price allows the paper mistletoe to fall into Connor’s lap and then carefully, tenderly pushes the hair from Connor’s forehead. His fingers hesitate only a second before he take up his comb again and stands.

He is radiant in the evening sunset. It is as though he is glowing from the inside out. Now that Connor has looked, he is not sure that he knows how to look away. Or even if he wants to.

“Thank you,” Connor says, and his voice is very quiet. He doesn’t feel quiet, all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart and then faint whistling of the wind. He can still feel the faint outline of Kevin’s lips against his own cheek. He thinks that he will feel it forever.

But Elder Price merely shakes his head at Connor’s gratitude.

“It was a gift, it was no trouble,” he says, smiling faintly, “Happy Christmas Elder McKinley.”

He could get up demand answers from Elder Price. He could put on his best face and act surprised, or ashamed or accusatory, or refuse to react at all. But instead he waits, allowing Elder Price to step back into the shadowed shelter of the Mission Hut. He doesn’t even question what it means. That is not for tonight.

There is time.

It was a greater gift than McKinley could have expected. This has been the finest Christmas, and his first Sekukkulu. It has certainly been the best.

His voice cracks the first time he tries to speak, but Elder Price waits in the doorway, still wearing his green Christmas hat, standing still and without the manifestations of that flighty energy that Connor expected to feel the first time he kissed a boy. Elder Price looks perfectly at ease with himself, in a way that he hadn’t looked for the first few months of his mission. And Elder Price has had a most turbulent mission.

Connor feels sure of himself, he’s not afraid. Not even of what awaits him outside this little bubble of Africa that they have all made together. That Elder Price forced into being.

His fingers skate over the pencilled mistletoe in his lap with the utmost reverence, as though he were learning holy gospel.

“Happy Christmas Kevin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nabulungi's dress is from [this beautiful picture](http://dauverney.tumblr.com/post/132328392256/did-you-get-my-text-commission-for-villierscy) of her as a princess, which I wanted to honour in this fic, because it's beautiful and it lives over my desk to inspire me.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading, Happy Holidays!


End file.
